Hostile Takeover
by Quallevra
Summary: Not every Replika-hosting site was abandoned before Xana found it.


**Hostile Takeover**

Tech Specialist Brin stood looking out the window, watching the sun set over the mountains. The red and purple of the sky was reflected onto the peaks that framed it, creating an impressive display. This was Brin's favorite time of day to look at the scenery. On the other hand, he had to admit that it seemed less awe-inspiring now, after over a year of nothing but mountains to look at, than it had when he'd first been assigned here.

The installation was a secret one, hidden from the world up here. Its main purpose was to monitor for unusual signals or secret communications. Brin was one of the three men who took turns doing that, from the master computer in the monitoring room. The site was also occasionally used to test out new military technology, but that was rare. In fact, it was rare that anything truly interesting happened up here.

"Hey, man!" Brin turned at the voice from the doorway. "Got a minute to talk?"

Brin shrugged. "My shift doesn't start for another fifteen. I can spend most of them talking." He nodded and smiled at Gaines and Bessinger. The two soldiers were his closest friends in this place.

"Great, then let's talk about after our shifts are over," said Gaines. "If I see one more checkers game, I'm going to go nuts! We need a new activity."

"Well, you were the one who wanted to do something more challenging than watch movies in the first place," Brin reminded him. "If you still want a game, and you're sick of checkers, I guess that leaves card games- unless you want to put in a bid for the monopoly board."

"Maybe. That's a big commitment, yeah?"

"More likely, it's asking to have what we start thrown out when someone else poaches the board," Bessinger said dryly. She leaned against the doorframe with studied indifference. "It's happened plenty of times around here."

Gaines looked at her in annoyance. "I don't suppose you want to teach us to play chess."

"No, I don't. Just because I know how doesn't mean I like the game. I'm not playing that for the next month, and I'm sure not giving lessons on it."

"It's fine. Anything that strategy-intensive is too much like work for relaxing after shift, anyway," Brin commented. "I say we try card games. We all know plenty of them, right?"

"Sure, that can hold us for a month or two, huh?" Bessinger agreed.

"Or as long as I stick around," Gaines muttered.

"Wait, what?"

Gaines shrugged at Brin. "Nothing yet. I don't know. It's just, being out in the middle of nowhere is starting to get to me. I'm seriously wondering if I shouldn't ask for a transfer back to civilization." He shrugged again. "It would be nice to be able to have a life, you know?"

"How seriously are you wondering?" Brin asked.

"I don't know. I haven't done anything yet, but I really might."

"A life, huh?" Bessinger broke in. "You plan to hook up with someone and become a family man, Tim?" She grinned.

"I don't know about that, but at least it would be nice to have the option of getting a date on weekends, you know?" He looked at the other two. "You never wish you were somewhere other than here?"

"Sure, sometimes, but I'm part of the core personnel, so there isn't much point in dwelling on thoughts like that," Brin said lightly. "You want out, though, I doubt anyone'll argue. We'd miss you, you know."

"Yeah. On the other hand, we'd get a laugh when something exciting happens right after you're gone, and you missed all the fun," Bessinger added with a smirk.

"Since when is there excitement around here?" Gaines pointed out. "The place just exists so Owen here can look at a computer screen all the time."

"Well, yeah, that and whenever they want to test some tech without risk of anybody around to see it," Brin reminded him. "They sent specs for those drones about two months ago, remember? Even let us make them ourselves." The base had a small manufacturing area for just such purposes.

"I remember, but I bet it won't happen again for ages," Gaines answered.

"Or something else might." Bessinger smirked. "After all, if a UFO or something crashes anywhere around here, this is where they'll send the wreckage for study, right?" They laughed.

Brin's answer was cut off when the comm clipped to his pocket crackled to life. "Specialist Brin! To the monitoring room, now!" That was General Sparr, the man in charge of the facility. The three looked at each other in concern. It was nearly ten minutes before Brin's shift began, and the general wouldn't summon him like that unless something serious had happened.

"Coming, sir!" Brin said quickly into the comm. He glanced at his friends. "I'll let you know later- if he doesn't say otherwise."

They nodded. "Go," Bessinger murmured. Brin hurried out the door and down the hall.

The monitoring room was at the end of a hallway, behind a state-of-the-art metal door that slid open, and an electronic lock that scanned fingerprints while you typed in the security code. There was a small window of double-layered bullet-proof glass in the door. Brin didn't know if it was intended for looking in or out.

The room itself wasn't that large, especially considering it was basically the heart of the base. The far wall was dominated by the computer, which had both a main and a side console, and there were a couple more chairs than were usually needed. The room was otherwise empty, possibly to leave floor space for pacing.

Both General Sparr and Specialist Charleston seemed to be using that space for a heated debate when Brin entered the room. Brin started to ask what was wrong, but was cut off as the door opened again behind him, and Specialist Buford hurried in. Brin blinked in surprise. He'd been about to take over from Charleston in a few minutes, but Buford's shift was the morning one, which they were nowhere near. It must be truly serious for Sparr to call all three of them in. Buford looked like he was thinking the same thing.

General Sparr cut right to the point. "About three minutes ago, our main computer was hacked from offsite. I need you three to find out what we're dealing with, and stop it if you can. Now!"

Brin exchanged a quick, startled look with Buford, then took a closer look at the main screen. Text was scrolling across it, almost too fast to read. "What have we got?" he asked Charleston.

The other man grimaced. "I wish I knew. It broke through our security in record time, and started going through the files. Now the main console's completely locked up, and won't accept input. I was about to try the side."

"Do we know if it's a person or an automated program?" Buford asked.

"We don't know anything for sure," Charleston muttered as he stalked toward the side console.

"Program's more likely from the speed you're describing," Brin commented as he moved to stand behind him. Buford looked pensively at the main console, and experimentally tapped a few keys.

"I told you, it's no good," Charleston told him. "Here we go, though." The side console still responded, and he moved quickly to take stock of what was happening. A moment later, he hissed in dismay.

"What is it?" Sparr demanded.

"It's not just going through our files, sir. It's reconfiguring the whole system," Charleston reported, staring at the screen.

"Into what?!"

"I don't know yet," he told the general. "At this speed though… Brin's right, that's definitely not a human hacker on the other end. Incredibly sophisticated virus, maybe."

"Whatever it is, I want it stopped!"

Buford turned to the side console. "Can you cut it off at-"

He started to reach in, but Charleston waved him and Brin back. "I got it. Let me try this…" He tapped rapidly at the keys.

Suddenly, he stiffened and jerked with a cry as an electric flash surged from the keyboard. The others stared in shock as Charleston collapsed to the floor. A faint odor of burning drifted through the room. At that moment, both screens blanked, displaying only an unknown insignia.

Brin stood frozen for a second, then shook it off and scrambled to his knees beside his fallen colleague. 'Oh my God, oh my God,' ran through his head. He wasn't quite sure if he was muttering it out loud or not.

"Is he alive?" Sparr demanded tensely.

Brin nodded. "Yes, sir."

Sparr snatched his comm to his mouth. "We need medical assistance in the monitoring room, now!" He glared grimly at Brin and Buford. "I don't care what it takes, shut that computer down!"

Brin looked up in time to see Buford cautiously poking at the side keyboard with the eraser end of a wooden pencil. The keyboard crackled, producing a smell of burned rubber. Buford shook his head. "Whatever we're doing, we're not doing from here. Was this wired to allow this kind of-?"

"Figure it out after we cut the power," Brin broke in tersely. He stood up and waved his hand at the far end of the main console, where the emergency switch was. As the two of them moved toward it, the sound of racing feet approached from the hallway. Sparr slammed his fist on the button to open the door from inside, and Medical Officer Hartley rushed in. She hurried to Charleston's side even as she asked what had happened.

While Sparr tersely answered her, Brin's attention was on Buford as he prepared to pull the lever down and cut the power. Suddenly, Brin said, "Stop!" Maybe he'd imagined it, but he could have sworn he'd seen the faint light of sparks flickering against the lever. It shouldn't be possible, though. But…

"Give me that," he demanded, hurrying to Buford's side and grabbing the pencil. Carefully, he touched the eraser to the lever. There was a brief, bright spark, and a renewed smell of burning rubber. Brin frowned grimly.

"That's impossible," Buford protested. "I'll admit I'm not sure about the keyboard, but I KNOW that switch isn't wired for that kind of juice."

"No, it's not," Brin agreed. "Reprogrammed or not, you can't do that without actually messing with the wires. Somehow, though, it's been done. What the hell is going on?"

He and Buford stared at each other in silence for a couple of seconds, through which they heard Charleston moaning and trying to ask a question, and Hartley ordering him to lie still. Then Sparr's voice cut crisply through.

"Options, gentlemen. I want whatever's happening stopped. How else can the power be cut?"

"Not easily, sir," said Buford. "All the wiring runs through the wall. We can't exactly get at it."

"Not from this room. But the generator's in the west wing, and the power cables have to run from there. We should be able to access them from the north walkway," Brin suggested. "Or…"

"Or there's always the generator itself," Sparr finished grimly. Again he raised his comm. Suddenly, there was an ominous humming and crackling sound from the walls around them, rapidly getting louder. Brin saw sparks out of the corners of his eyes. "Everyone out, now!" Sparr bellowed.

Waving Brin and Buford through the door, the general helped Hartley haul Charleston out after them. They'd barely made it out of the room as arcs of electrical energy started leaping between the walls in a deadly dance. The door slid closed behind them, and they all heard it lock.

Then all the lights went out.

There was a moment of darkness, punctuated by Sparr's muttering, before the general's small flashlight clicked on. After a moment, Buford's joined it, as did Hartley's. Many of the rooms and hallways in the base had no windows, so they all carried them, just in case. Brin left his be for the moment. The others were enough to see by for now, and he might want the batteries to be fresh later.

"Did the generator fail on its own?" Buford asked.

Brin looked back in through the window to the monitoring room. The deadly flicker of electricity had stopped, and the room was dark as well. However, both screens of the computer still displayed that strange insignia, something like a bulls-eye… or a staring eye.

"It hasn't," he said quietly. "The computer's still running. Power seems to have been cut to other systems."

Sparr had already tried both the light switch and the phone on the wall. Neither worked. Grimly, he flicked the switch on his comm to broadcast to everyone. "Attention all personnel. Our computer systems have been infiltrated, and are out of our control. All in the vicinity, get to the north walkway and cut the primary power cables that feed to the monitoring room. If that doesn't work, shut down the generator. I don't care what you have to do to get the door open. Everyone stay in contact. I'm on-route from the monitoring room. Over."

Chatter came back over the comm as various officers checked in. From their brief reports, power seemed to be out all over the base. Luckily, there were very few rooms that merited the now non-functioning electronic doors. It was unfortunate that one of those few rooms held the generator.

Sparr motioned brusquely at Brin and Buford. "You two, come with me. You," to Hartley, "look after him here for now." Hartley, crouched over Charleston, nodded. She'd already repurposed her jacket into a pillow for him. Brin and Buford followed General Sparr down the darkened hallway.

They were quickly met by a small group of soldiers, and with this escort, they advanced down the hall. It was strangely eerie with no light except their flashlights. There were no windows in this hallway, but Brin supposed it wouldn't matter much if there were. It would be well dark outside by now.

A glimpse of movement drew his gaze upward. "Look," he hissed, pointing. There was a security camera mounted at the juncture of wall and ceiling. It was slowly panning, as if following their movement as they walked past.

"Those are still working?" Buford asked.

"Whoever or whatever controls the system now is probably using them against us," Brin muttered.

"Probably," Sparr agreed. "And we may have a bigger problem. If the cameras still work, the guns might too." Everyone looked at each other unhappily. The base might be remote, and comparatively small, but it was still a top-secret military installation, with top-tier security. Several of the most important corridor junctions had machine guns mounted near the ceiling, next to the more widely-distributed cameras. Normally, it took the input of an authorized code from one of the security stations to allow them to fire, but there was nothing normal about this situation.

Sparr sent out warnings of that to the others soldiers throughout the base, and they continued forward. Everyone was tense as they approached the major crossing of corridors ahead. They were all straining their ears for any clue of machinery moving ahead, but all they could hear, in between the intermittent check-ins over the comms, were their own footsteps echoing down the hallway. The crossing beams of the flashlights created strange shadows on the darkened walls.

Their tension was warranted. As they came in sight of the crossways, they saw that the guns above were all pointed in their direction. A moment after they registered this, the guns opened fire. Luckily, they were still far enough back to quickly retreat from harm's way.

"How much ammo do they have?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Too much," Sparr said tersely. "Shoot back. Put them out of commission if you can. Get us through!"

The next minute was a confusion of yelling, shooting, and running. Brin tried to dash forward with the rest, trusting to the soldiers to get them through. He meant to keep his head down, but some prickling instinct goaded him to look up- just as one of the guns adjusted its aim in his direction. Desperately, Brin flung himself to the left. He scrabbled wildly backward as bullets tore up the floor uncomfortably close, until he once again felt the walls of a hallway around him, and the immediate attack ceased.

Seconds later, the halls were effectively quiet again. Through it, Brin heard the soldiers' voices across the way, asking and reporting status. There was blood on the floor, and at least two unmoving forms lay near the corridor the others had reached. From this angle, Brin couldn't tell who they were.

He heard Sparr calling his name. "I'm alright, sir!" he called back. "I had to dodge into the south hall. I don't think I can get back to you on my own."

"Go around the long way," Sparr instructed. "Join with whoever's available, and meet us at our destination if you can. And if we don't get through, you might."

"Understood." Brin stood a moment, listening to the fading sounds of Sparr's group continuing down their hallway. Then, with a deep breath, he turned on his flashlight and started to advance down his own hall. As he walked, he brought up his comm. He didn't know which unit of soldiers was closest to his position right now. However, he knew whose company he'd prefer. He tuned to Gaines' and Bessinger's frequencies. "Tim? Terry? Are you there?"

"Owen?" Gaines' voice came back. "You all right? What's happened?"

"I'm okay, but I got separated from the general's unit while we were trying to get through the north hall junction. I'm just south of there now. Where are you? Are you anywhere close?"

"Yeah, we're a few halls over."

"Are you alone?" Bessinger cut in.

"For the moment."

"We'll be right there."

Within five minutes, the three were reunited, and advancing slowly down another corridor. They had to be cautious, because the longer way around to their destination passed through two more armed crossways, and that was assuming they weren't forced into any more detours. One of them wasn't too far ahead.

"I've got to tell you, this whole thing isn't really discouraging me from wanting to transfer out of here," Gaines muttered.

"Really? I thought your main complaint was being bored," Brin commented.

"It is, but this isn't the kind of excitement I meant."

"Never satisfied, huh?" Gaines was about to answer Bessinger, but she cut him off with a sharp hiss as a fresh outcry came through the comms. The news they'd been hearing was persistently grim: more shootouts with the automated guns, doors that refused to open. This was new, though.

"Laser, cut into his ankle! Not sure how bad…"

"What laser?" Gaines asked in confusion.

Bessinger, who'd been listening carefully, said, "I think they mean the laser tripwire outside the west security station. When they tried to walk through it…"

"Even if those are on, they shouldn't be able to hurt anyone," Brin said grimly.

"No kidding! How much power would you have to divert to those to do that?" Gaines demanded.

Brin shook his head. "It doesn't matter. They aren't designed to allow for something like that. It isn't physically possible to turn those tripwires into a hazard on their own- just like it isn't physically possible to channel dangerous amounts of electricity through the computer's emergency shut-off switch, the way it's wired. Yet both happened anyway. What the hell are we dealing with here?"

"I don't know…" Gaines looked at Bessinger. "Unless your aliens are behind it."

She shook her head. "Right now, I think solving the problem is more important than explaining it."

They'd reached the crossways, and they stopped just out of the guns' range. "They aren't turned toward us yet. We could have the first shot if we're lucky," Bessinger noted.

"We won't get many. They won't go out of commission easily," Gaines muttered.

"They will if we sever the power cords." The guns couldn't have free range of movement if they were embedded in the wall, so the wires that supplied their power were partly visible.

"Can you make a shot like that?" Brin asked dubiously.

"I think so."

"I can," Gaines assured them. No one suggested trying to blind them by targeting the security cameras first. Someone had already tried that. The guns had waited about thirty seconds - long enough for that unit to figure it was safe and start walking - then opened fire, raking the whole junction as far as they could reach in all directions. Judging from the subsequent silence over the comm, the whole unit had probably been wiped out.

Gaines and Bessinger both cautiously inched forward, took careful aim, and fired off a few rapid shots. The machines guns started to swing toward them before the wires were severed and their movement failed, and Brin's breath caught as he heard one of them, not yet hit, start to fire.

A split second later, it stopped, as Gaines hit it, but the sound of his shot was accompanied by a grunt of pain from Bessinger. Gaines whirled toward her. "You okay?!"

Bessinger turned toward them and nodded slowly, left hand pressed against the side of her face. Blood was slowly seeping from between her fingers. "It just grazed me. I'm all right," she promised them. The other two looked at her concernedly, but she did appear to be okay.

Gaines shook his head. "That was way too close. I'll doubt we'll even be that lucky if we try that again."

"We can't try it again anyway. We don't have enough bullets left," Bessinger pointed out. There was no question of getting more. Even if they'd been near the weapon stockroom, the door wouldn't open. Others had already tried.

"Then we can't get through the next crossways between here and the generator room," Brin said. "Not by this route, anyway."

"No, we can't," Bessinger agreed. She cautiously moved her hand away from her bloody cheek. "I'm not sure if there's a way through the halls that dodges all of these, though."

"Not through the halls, but there is a way," Brin said suddenly. "We can cut through the assembly and testing area. It's right down there to the left, and there are no arms inside. Anyway, it's run by on-site controls. There's no interface whatsoever between those rooms and the main computer systems."

"Somehow, I'm not sure that'll help," Gaines muttered, but Bessinger nodded.

"And we can come out a short run to the generator from there, with nothing in the way, and not much farther to where the cables run, if someone else has secured the junction in between. Good idea."

She reported their plan to General Sparr over the comm. He approved. "We're almost there, but we've suffered losses. If something goes wrong, we may still need you as back-up," he told them.

"Hey, what was that?" asked a voice in the background on his end.

"What?"

"I saw something move! There, across the room. At least, I thought I did."

"You mean, like a person?"

"No, I saw it too. It looked more like a plume of smoke."

"It shouldn't be smoke. There's no smell, no sign of anything burning. Besides, it's too dark to be sure of seeing anything like that."

"I know, but…"

Suddenly, there was another sharp cry, quickly cut off. "Hey, Fleet! Are you all right? Hey, can you hear me?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Can't tell."

Sounds of chaos abruptly broke out. Brin and the others heard a few cries to the sense of, "Fleet, what are you doing?" They were soon drowned out, though, by thuds, gunfire, what seemed to be electrical crackling, and generic screams. After a minute or so, the noise died down, then ceased. Brin and his friends stared at each other as silence again filled the darkened corridor.

It wasn't silent for long. Seconds later, similar outcries errupted once again through the comm. They were coming from more than one source, and through the chaos of fighting and screaming, more names could be made out: "Landon, what's wrong with you?!" "Hey, Boon, what's gotten into you?"

"I think we should move, now!" Bessinger told the other two sharply. They didn't argue. The three of them hurried down the corridor. Brin glanced around nervously when the sound of distant gunfire reached them, but the source of it couldn't be seen from here. There was only the darkened hall, fitfully lit by the crossing beams of their flashlights.

Soon, the doorway into the manufacturing area yawned in front of them. A security camera mounted above the doorway swiveled to track them, but there were no guns here to fire on them. No actual door blocked the way forward. Brin and the others quickly ducked through into the darkness beyond.

The flashlights illuminated portions of the assembly equipment around them, throwing even more bizarre shadows. There was no more noise from the comms, and the silence was eerie.

As they slowly walked forward, heading for the testing range, Bessinger tried to contact General Sparr. There was no answer. She tried several other units. Still, there was nothing but silence.

"What's going on? They can't all have been wiped out by whatever happened, can they? Just what did happen there, anyway?" Gaines demanded.

"I don't know, but it's looking less and less like anyone else has survived," Bessinger admitted.

"This is crazy!"

"Hang on. Hartley was looking after Charleston right outside the monitoring room. They shouldn't have gone anywhere," Brin suggested. He raised his own comm. "Hey, Hartley, are you there? Over? Hey, can you hear me? Hartley? Charleston?" Again, only silence answered. Brin shook his head. "There are no guns mounted there. No laser tripwires, not at that end of the hallway. Just an empty hall, outside a locked door. What could possibly have happened to _them_?"

"I don't know, but I really wish this would all start making sense," Gaines complained.

"Shh, listen!" Bessinger whispered suddenly. A faint hum had started up around them. "I think the machinery is starting up."

Brin whirled around and aimed his flashlight at the console that controlled the equipment in this room. There was no one there, but several small lights had come on. The machinery was indeed starting to move. He shook his head. "Nothing in here can be controlled from outside this room!"

"Tell that to whatever's going on," Gaines muttered. "What's it doing, anyway?"

They watched for a few seconds. Something was definitely being assembled. "Isn't that the drone design that we were testing for them a couple of months ago?" Brin asked.

"Yeah. The blueprints must have still been in the computer," Bessinger said. "Let's go. We don't want to be here when it's complete. And stay well clear of the machinery. At this point, I wouldn't assume something won't reach out and grab us."

The three of them turned and hurried toward the doorway to the testing range. The machines hummed and clanged ominously all around them, but they stayed well clear. It didn't occur to them that staying clear wasn't good enough. Not until a rivet gun rotated into a position facing well away from the assembly line it was supposed to work on and opened fire at them. Brin heard Gaines cry out amid the sound of rivets firing, and the smell of blood filled the air.

Bessinger and Brin grabbed Gaines' arms as he stumbled, and they all lunged forward through the doorway ahead. Once through and out of attack range, they dropped to their knees, and the other two turned desperately toward Gaines. They could see at once that it was too late. His back was a bloody mess, and he slumped slowly in their arms, blood already starting to pool on the floor beneath.

"Tim, can you hear me? Tim!" Bessinger called desperately.

"Please, Tim, wake up," Brin whispered.

Gaines looked hazily up at them both out of the corners of his eyes. "I really wish I'd transferred out of here," he mumbled. Then his body went completely limp. He was gone.

Brin slammed his fist on the floor. His teeth were gritted and his eyes screwed shut. This couldn't be true, could it? Bad enough that the whole base had somehow turned into a deadly funhouse, that no one else could be reached. But that Gaines, one of his best friends, was lying here dead right in front of him…

He heard Bessinger calling his name. It barely registered, until she suddenly grabbed his arm and shook him roughly. He looked up in surprise. "Get up!" she snapped. "We have to keep moving. Otherwise, this was for nothing! We have to find a way to stop this, before the same thing happens to us- or to more installations like this one!" Under her insistent pulling, Brin stumbled to his feet.

"We can't just leave him," he started to object.

"Right now, we don't have a choice," Bessinger said grimly. "We'll have to see to him, and everyone else, later, when this is over. For now, let's go." The two of them started across the testing range.

It was a large, and very long room, and there were usually targets set up at the far end. Other than that, it was empty. Its purpose was to test out the rare prototypes they were sometimes sent, like those drones. Otherwise, like the rest of this area, it was rarely used- though it wasn't unheard of for some of the soldiers to engage in target practice of their own in here from time to time. Now, it was dark and silent like the rest of the base, except for their flashlight beams, barely enough to light up this large space, and the echo of their footsteps.

They were about halfway across when Brin heard a faint sound to their left. It came through a doorway that led to the disposal area: where they scrapped and recycled the toys after testing, if they weren't expected to ship them off to somewhere else. Brin stopped. "Did you hear that?" he asked softly.

Bessinger frowned. "It sounded like a moan. Maybe."

"Yeah." Brin approached the doorway. Bessinger hurried after him and caught his arm, just before he reached it.

"Careful. Don't get any closer before we've gotten a look." They played their flashlights through the doorway.

Dominating the room beyond was a large hydraulic press, meant for crushing metal. There was no sign that it was active at the moment. Lying on top of it, in a neat row, where about four or five soldiers. They all appeared to be unconcious, though one or two were starting to stir weakly. One of those was lying nearest to the doorway, and Brin was startled to see that it was Fleet. Craning his neck, he thought he could recognize Landon and Boon beyond him.

"Hey, Fleet? Can you hear me?" he called softly.

Fleet moaned and twitched again, then slowly opened his eyes. He dazedly in Brin's direction. "Who's there? Where are…"

Brin's heart clenched as Fleet's voice was drowned out by the sudden sound of the hydraulic press starting up. He started to scream a warning, but it was too late. The press came down, and a horrible crunch filled the air as blood sprayed out from the machine. Brin stumbled back the doorway in shock and horror.

Stepping up next to him, Bessinger shook her head grimly. "This is getting worse all the time."

"How were they brought in there?" Brin asked numbly. "Even if every piece of equipment in this place is possessed, there's nothing in there, or out here, capable of moving them from place to place like that. How?" Bessinger didn't answer. There was nothing to say. It had almost looked as if those soldiers had walked in and laid down like that themselves, for all the sense it made.

Suddenly, a sharp sound came from behind them, from the assembly area. "A drone's in the air! Run!" Bessinger cried. She and Brin raced for the far doorway. They barely dove through it as the sleek airborn shape swept past overhead, beginning to open fire.

"Don't stop!" Bessinger ordered as they fled down the hall. "Next pass, it'll be through the doorway." Brin didn't answer. He remembered when they'd tested the prototype originally. The drone he'd glimpsed just now had been different, as if the design hadn't been just copied, but upgraded as well. At the least, it was more heavily armed than the original had been.

They rounded a corner, and then another, but they could hear the thing behind them. They hadn't lost it, and it sounded uncomfortably like it was getting closer. Finally, Bessinger stopped.

"Go," she ordered as she turned back and drew her gun. "I'll try to stop it."

"No, don't," Brin started to protest.

She cut him off. "My job's to protect you! Stop the generator, or call for help, whatever you can find. Go! Now!" He feared she was about to shove him, but that would distract her from aiming her gun, and the drone was coming fast. Brin turned and ran.

He ran desperately, almost blindly, down the hall, and behind him came the sound of gunfire being exchanged. It didn't last long. Brin couldn't swear that he heard the sound of Bessinger's body hitting the floor, but he almost imagined he could. He kept running. The sound of the drone was soon behind him again. Something in the sound had changed, probably from damage, but it was still there, still coming.

Where could he go? He couldn't believe that anyone had ever succeeded at getting the door to the genator room open, so even if he could make it that far, he'd basically be cornered. But there was, he realized, another way. He swerved down the next branch to the left. There, on the right side of this small hallway, was a door. Nothing fancy or high-tech, just a simple door with hinges. Tearing it open, Brin dove through, then closed it behind him as quietly as he could. He stood still, then, and listened. He heard nothing. No sign that the drone knew where he'd gone.

Letting out a long, drawn breath, Brin slowly swept his flashlight around the small space. It was nothing more than a little-used storage room. There was nothing in here that drew power at all, except for the single lightbulb overhead, which was of course dark. Brin didn't bother reaching for the switch.

He crossed the room. Among the few items on the shelves was a battery-powered radio. There was no way he could break the hold of whatever had taken control of their base, not now, by himself, but at least he could contact someone and report what had happened here. Word of this threat needed to be passed on. Then, hopefully, outside help would come for him- and any other scattered survivors there might still be, assuming there were any at all. Brin feared he was the last person left alive in the building by now.

Turning on the radio, Brin tried to contact the next nearest military installation, near the foot of the mountains. To his concern, he heard nothing but static. Why? He knew he could get a signal in here. There was no place in the building that didn't get a signal. Surely they hadn't been attacked as well?

He knew the frequencies for several installations in the general area, but as he tried one after another, he heard nothing but static. Surely, they weren't all out of communication. _Was_ the problem at this end? What…?

Brin glanced down at the radio again, and froze. The small panel was still lit, but the numbers indicating the frequency had disappeared. In their place was a round insignia, the same emblem he'd seen on the computer screens in the monitoring room. Brin stared in shock. How was this possible? The radio ran on batteries. It wasn't connected to anything else! How could whatever took control of the computer possibly influence it?!

A movement drew his gaze from the display panel. The mike had fallen from his numb hand, but it seemed to be moving. No, the cord that attached it to the radio was moving. As Brin stared in disbelieving horror, it rose up on its own, almost snake-like. Then it darted forward and wrapped itself around his neck. He tore at it desperately, but to no avail. It was strangling him.

'This is impossible!' ran through his head over and over. 'This can't be real!' It didn't matter. The cord remained, tightening around his neck, until his desperate confusion faded. Until his struggles to breath had ceased. Until the stars that filled his vision went out, and darkness claimed him.


End file.
